


Sick of Losing Soulmates

by Stillmarauding



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Magic, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25456882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stillmarauding/pseuds/Stillmarauding
Summary: You run from you captors, intent to escape their grasp before they can deliver you to the Master, the man they'd stolen you for, though for what, you still don't know. You never meant to stumble upon Alucard's castle, or indeed step foot inside. Still, you have little choice when he takes you in, set on nursing you back to health, though he seems to find your very company to be contemptible. But what will happen when your past begins to catch up with you, even at your future remains wholly uncertain?
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Original Character(s), Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Reader, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	1. Overture

Your shoes have worn through. Not that it made a difference now.

Your breath is labored as you tear off the hem of your dress, using the strips to secure a set of semi straight branches into a splint. You know it won’t hold for long, know that it will do nothing for the sickening angle the bone juts out under your dirty skin, but perhaps it will be enough to make it to the next town. Perhaps.

You draw yourself up by way of a fallen branch, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying out. It would be foolish to think that they’d given up their search, that they weren’t still hunting you like a dog.

You had to keep moving.

The pain was good, you told yourself. It meant you were alive, that you were no longer locked in that awful caravan in a drug induced stupor, that your mind was sharp. That there were no longer hands pushing and prodding you, groping in the night.

You took a step using the branch as a crutch and cried out, the stab of pain causing your vision to flash white. You waver, swaying as the pain knocks the breath from your lungs.

“This way. I think I heard the bitch.”

You shoved forward at the voice, all too familiar. Icy fear took hold leaving no room for pain or doubt, just the primal need to get away, far, far away. You pushed forward through the forest, not caring that branches and nettles tore at your skin, pausing only long enough after a tumble to right yourself enough to keep moving.

You could hear then now, pushing through the underbrush, their voices carrying over the otherwise silent forest. They’re growing closer—you have no hope of outrunning them, not with your leg. Still you press forward, hope, if nothing else driving you.

You reached a sudden clearing of the trees, a gothic castle soaring overhead, its architecture impossible. Its towers are suspended in the air as if by thought alone, far larger than even the greatest cathedral you’d ever seen. You couldn’t help but stop and crane your next upward in wonder.

“There! I see her!”

You whipped around to see the leader of the men that took you, dirty and irate, pointing a finger at you, a finger that is trembling with rage. You stumbled forward into the clearing only to balk at the figures impaled on either side of the door. They’re rotted beyond recognition, white dressing gowns clinging limply to what remains of their forms.

Still, they are dead and can do you no harm, unlike the men you know are wishing to prove to you just how much harm they plan to. You staggered up the steps, more-so falling against the door than anything else.

“Please, please help me!” you cried, fingers scrabbling at the door, searching for a latch, a knocker, anything to put its wood between you and your captors.

“There you are, pretty. You’re going to pay for that little stunt. I’m sure the master wouldn’t mind you missing a few toes. Might stop you running.” You cried out as you felt the calloused, meaty hands of the leader close around you. You clawed at his hands but he only laughed, grabbing a handful of your hair and his arm locked around your waist. You howled, the sound feral and broken, your escape all for naught.

“Let me go! Let me go—”

“Not a chance, not for the price you’re going for.”

You reached up the claw at his face, only to have your wrist crushed in his grip. You could hear the other’s behind your captor, whooping as he slung her about with less regard than he would have a sack of potatoes.

“Fuckin’ finally. I’m getting sick of this shit.”

“Didn’t think the bitch could run. High-born ladies have soft feet my ass. I told you we should have tied her feet after the last time.”

You glared at the two lackeys, one of whom looked barely out of his teens, the other hunched over as he tried to catch his breath. You seethed, still trying to fight off the leader, even as he twisted your arm behind her in a way that made you yelp, immobilized by the pain. He laughed, pulling harder under you felt a sickening pop and screamed.

“Now they said I had to get you there _alive_ , but nobody said anything about you staying in one piece—"

There was a flash of silver and the man doubled over dropped to the ground, a splash of crimson across his tunic. A second flash and the other fell, crimson pooling around his still form.

A man walked slowly from the woods, golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. He held a simple basket full of freshly gathered food, his face twisted into one of immense dislike. Next to him hovered a long sword, easily keeping pace with him.

“I’ll have you know I don’t suffer trespassers,” he said in a voice that sounded more bored than anything, though you supposed that if you had a magic sword perhaps you would feel the same. You certainly wouldn’t have to suffer these _monsters_.

“Stay back. You wouldn’t want to hurt the girl now, would you?” you captor said, turning so your body shielded his own. The man raised an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t, would I?” he asked, drawing closer. “And what’s stopping me from running the pair of you through?”

The man floundered, stammering. You stared down the stranger, eyes blazing even as you fought to be free of the man’s grasp.

“Do it then. It would be a kindness, rather than leaving me in his hands.”

“Shut up you little bi—” You cried out at the feeling of something warm splattering against the side of your face, at the sudden release of the arms that had held you off-balance and contorted against his body. You fell to the stone, pushing away from the bleeding corpses as much as you could.

You watched as the man sighed before fixing his gaze on you. He was beautiful—pale and golden eyed, wearing only a simple white shirt and dark trousers, hardly what you’d have expected of someone so expertly wielding a magic blade.

“T-thank you,” you stammered, your chest rising and falling at an alarming rate. You could feel the panic start to wash over you and the trembling take over. You watched the blonde man’s harsh expression falter before he stepped forward and tugged the body of the man away from you, making you realize for the first time that he’d landed atop your legs, pinning you.

His eyes fixed on the awkward angle of your tibia, your poor attempt at a splint half torn away during the scuffle. He stooped, examination it more closely for a moment before reaching to scoop you into his arms as if you weighed nothing. Still, you couldn’t have weighed much, given the scraps you’d been fed the last weeks.

“Sir? What are you—I thank you, but please—”

“Your leg needs to be set and I’ll wager your shoulder as well. I have some knowledge in the area.”

He pushed into the castle with ease, as if it had been left unlatched, as if your entire body weight hadn’t failed to move it an inch. You felt yourself truly begin to hyperventilate as you entered the great entrance of the castle, the ceiling soaring stories high above, a grand, sweeping staircase opposite the entrance. You look up at the man, his profile looking as if cut from the finest marble, eyes golden like the finest honey, and you fixate on the blood on his cheek, still a garish bright red, a stain against his skin.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was in fact your savior, or if you had merely found a gilded cage against which to beat your wings.

* * *

Alucard glanced down at the woman in his arms as her head lolled to his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He wasn’t surprised to see her faint, rather that she had held on as long as she had. She was covered in blood, more than could simply be from the man who had held her. Her dress was torn, hem gone, one arm torn partially free, revealing deep bruising.

He wondered what had happened to her, what abject cruelty had left her to beg for death by his hand at his door. He pushed into one of the guest rooms, lying her on top of the bed. She looked like a crumpled doll, broken and forgotten.

This is the last thing he needs right now, another wayward human taken into his halls. How long before this one were to betray him, just as Taka and Sumi? Of course, he couldn’t just toss her out, not with her leg broken to the point that it was visible under the skin of her slender calf.

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. What would his mother say if she knew he was considering leaving a helpless, injured woman to her fate? Would she be shocked at the cruelty that had taken root in his heart? He ducked out of the room as if he could leave the thoughts behind, gathering the supplies he would need from his mother’s study.

The woman hadn’t moved by the time he returned. She looked smaller, somehow, even though she was taller than most women he’d met. Much taller than Sypha. Much thinner as well. He wondered if those men had been starving her. It would certainly account for her fragility.

She woke only once as he cleaned and dressed her wounds, and only for a moment. She bolted upright as he set her leg, swearing colorfully in at least two languages other than the one she’d begged for death in before falling, once more, limp to the pillows.

A mystery then. Clearly an educated woman wearing the torn rags of what used to have been a simple, but well-constructed dress. Perhaps of merchant class then. What ‘master’ had the brigands been bringing her to? What price did she carry to warrant such harsh treatment?

He couldn’t deny, now that she was clean and lying peacefully in bed, changed out for her bloodied clothes for a simple nightgown he’d found in one of the other abandoned rooms, that she was pretty. Odd, in her coloring for sure, but her features were soft under her bruises, her eyes large and thick lashed. Still there was something nearly unsettling about the color of her hair, the color of spun silver under the dirt and the mud he’d been able to wipe free. Silver, and not white or blonde.

He tucked her into the bed, careful of her leg and the pillows he had stacked underneath to raise it. He had secured her arm in a sling after popping it back in place and was careful to prop her elbow up with more pillows to keep it steady while she slept. He took a step back warily. He couldn’t let his pity for the poor creature make him drop his guard. As soon as she was able to leave, he’d send her on her way.

At least he was fairly sure she was incapable of trying to murder him in the night.


	2. Sonata

You awoke blearily, head pounding. Your mouth felt as if it had been filled with sand and every inch of your body ached with demanding intensity, though none perhaps as much as your leg. You glanced about, taking in the room around you. Grey stone walls, red curtains in a rich velvet, and a four poster bed carved of beautiful, dark wood.

You’re still in the castle then. Unless the bishops have lied and pain truly does exist in heaven. Or you’ve found yourself a particularly cozy corner of hell.

You groaned as you force yourself to sit up, glancing down to find your arm in a sling. You’d been changed too, your bloody dress traded for a ridiculously filly nightshirt. You pushed the thought away of hands touching you unbidden, of a stranger stuffing you into the thing—it certainly wasn’t the worst thing to have happened to you in the last few weeks. After all, modesty meant nothing if you were dead.

No, the thing that irritated you was that your shoes had been removed along with your bloodied socks. Despite their disrepair, and that was being generous, they were still much better than hikeing your way through the Wallachian wilderness barefoot. You grimaced at the sight, gritting your teeth as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. It took all your self-control not to cry out at the pain of it, even as it makes your vision swim.

Still, pain was temporary and you had to keep moving, keep running. There was no telling if there would be other men sent after you once they discovered the last three dead and you’d be a fool to trust the hospitality of a stranger, much less a stranger with a magical blade, living in a mysterious, physics-defying castle in the middle of a ruined manor. He might have saved you, but there was no telling how he’d expect you to repay him for that service.

You stood, the motion leaving you unable to stop the cry that left your lips as your leg gave out fully beneath you, toppling you to the floor. You crumple to a heap on the floor, striking the stone with your uninjured hand for good measure.

“Damnit! Damnit all!” you hissed, pressing back so you slumped against the bed post. Getting back into bed was beyond your capabilities right now, as was standing and making your way to the door. _Damnit all indeed._ What was it that they said about the best laid plans?

“You’re awake.”

You whipped around towards the door, spotting the golden-haired man who had saved you standing in the doorway with a tray. He looked rather surprised, though if it were do to you losing consciousness or you place of the stone floor, you were unsure.

The man set the tray atop the dresser and crossed to where you’d fallen, lifting you up to perch once more on the bed. You stiffened at his touch, every fiber of your being screaming at you to push him away, that his was too close, that it was too easy to hurt you.

“I do not intend you harm. It would rather render my work of the last four days rather useless.”

 _Four days_. You were unconscious four days?! Had you really been so injured as to pass out for that long or had he kept you asleep though chemical means? You bit your lip, stopping yourself from saying something brash and probably stupid. You didn’t know what kind of a temper he had, nor his intentions for keeping you here. Perhaps it would be best to say as little as possible.

“Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” he asked, splaying his slender hand.

“Fingers or digits?” you ask and then make a face. So much for saying as little as possible. _Five! Five would have been the answer, had you not had to run your mouth, as always._

The man cocked an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Five,” you answered, too quickly, tripping over your words. “Five, erh—four and the thumb. I don’t know if it’s counted as a finger in Wallachia.”

He gave you an odd look, nearly bemused.

“Technically it’s not. I take it you’re not native to Wallachia then.”

“N-no. My mother was.”

He nodded to himself, crossing to where he’d left the tray and placing it on the bedside table. You watched him like a hawk, trying desperately to calm your racing heart. So far he’d given you no indication that he wanted to cut off your toes and stick you in a broom closet, in fact he’d done nothing but try and help. Still, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t, you knew he was certainly capable, and in your limited experience most men liked you to be conscious for their torment—

“I have to change your bandages and see how you’re healing.”

“I-I thought you didn’t suffer trespassers,” you blurted out as he drew near, something glinting on the tray. You scooted away as much as your leg allowed, looking at him with wide, fearful eyes.

He froze, his frown returning.

“Sorry, sorry! I mean, thank you! A thousand thanks! But surely I’ve imposed on your hospitality enough. If you would only point me north—”

“You would not survive the night beyond the castle walls. I’d wager you did not make it a step before you fell.”

You were silent, avoiding his gaze. He was right, of course. It didn’t make you feel any better about being bedbound in his castle though. His strangely empty castle.

“Will you allow me to treat your injuries?”

You took a shuddering breath and nodded, staring up at the ceiling rather than meeting his piercing gaze. Part of you would rather just let it all fester and have the fever take you than be made even more vulnerable in from of this man.

Perhaps not more. The last time he’d done this you hadn’t even bee conscious for it. You jumped as you felt his fingertips prod gently at your shoulder, not realizing how close he’d gotten.

“Did that hurt?”

“No—it’s just tender.”

“I’m sorry for frightening you.”

“I—” you broke off, unsure of what to say. It felt wrong to lie to him after he’d apologized, offered you a small kindness. The sort of kindness that almost made you feel like a human again.

“I’m easily frightened,” you settled on, daring to meet his gaze as he swept a wet cloth over the cut on your cheek. He huffed, something that could have been a short laugh if it had contained any humor.

The pair of you remained in silence as he worked, broken only by your occasional hisses of pain as he prodded somewhere sore. You hadn’t honestly noticed most of the injuries, not after your leg anyway. What were some bruised ribs and a few lacerations anyway?

Finally, you broke the silence, if only to try and distract yourself. “Could—May I know our name?”

He paused his work a moment before answering.

“Alucard.”

“Alucard,” you repeated, wondering if it were some sort of traditional Wallachian name. Something in you doubted it.

“And yours?” he asked.

“Elyra.” You gave it to him freely, the syllables almost bitter on your tongue. When was the last time someone called you by your name? Called you something other than ‘girl’ or ‘bitch’?

You fell back into silence, watching Alucard’s hands as he fusses with the dressings. They’re long and delicate and slightly cool against your skin. Perhaps you’re feverish. It wouldn’t be surprising.

He finished the last bandage, tossing the soiled ones onto the tray before standing and disappearing out of the bedroom without another word. His disappearance rattles you almost as much as his appearance. You don’t think he likes you. Of course, what was there to like, what with you dropping into his peaceful, corpse-guarded life unannounced?

“It’s not much, but I’m worried about what your stomach can handle.” You started again as he reappeared, this time bearing a steaming bowl. He set it in the beside table, eyeing you once more as if he too were holding back questions. Then he simply nodded, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Call out if you are in need of anything.”

He disappeared out the door before you could so much as thank him.

* * *

_Elyra._ An odd name for an even odder young woman.

No, the last thing he needed was to find her interesting. He needed her to heal so she could leave. There was no point in opening up to humans, not after last time—

He’d wager she’d agree.

If he hadn’t already killed those men he’d be out hunting them right now. She had weeks of injuries, bruises of all different colors. The way she flinched at his slightest movement, the way she tensed at even his lightest touch—how long had it been since she’d know the touch of a kind hand?

Then again, how long had it been since he?

He still didn’t know why they’d even been holding her. He’d heard them speak of delivering her to someone, but who he had no idea. Who would pay for a beaten, terrified girl?

It would be easy to despise humans, what with their seemingly limitless cruelty. Terribly easy, but—it wasn’t what his mother would have wanted. He knew that. Knew that she would have urged him to find the good, to stay firm in his idealism.

But where had that gotten them? Both betrayed, both alone. No, it was better to keep a safe distance.


	3. Concerto

You awoke the next day to a silent castle, dawn’s light just beginning to filter through your window. The empty bowl that you had left on the bedside table was gone, taken some time when you had been asleep.

You glanced around the room—it looked much the same as the day before. You listened for a moment for the sound of footsteps before pulling open the nightstand drawer, hoping to find a book or _something_ to entertain yourself. Hell, you’d take a pile of mending if only to give you something to do.

You weren’t used to sitting idle. There was always so much to _do._ Whether you’d been fulfilling orders at your father’s bindery or pouring over your own volumes you’d nearly always been doing _something._ And now there was nothing to do but lie back and determine the thread count of the sheets or some nonsense.

You tossed your head back in dissatisfaction, regretting it near instantly when it tore at your dislocated shoulder.

The next few days passed in much the same way, with you lying listlessly in bed, unable to even take a step, though you’d tried again since the disastrous first attempt. Each time the man, Alucard, found you sprawled out upon the floor, and each time he helped you back into bed, telling you off for being so foolish.

You’d grown so lonely that these fleeting visits had often become the highlight of your day, even if you only traded barbs. You guessed he was lonely too, something in those golden eyes that told you, perhaps, you weren’t so different.

Still, it did little good to ruminate how to cure the loneliness of a man who seemed to loath the sight of you when you had more important things to do. Like getting out of the castle and as far from the nightmare that was Wallachia that you could manage.

Something terrible was coming, something you could feel in the marrow of your bones. Something dark and reeking of decay, something that sought only ruination, starting with you.

Perhaps you should have told Alucard your suspicions, or at least the circumstances of why you’d ended up bloodied and on his doorstep. Perhaps he was your best chance at understanding it all yourself. After all, it wasn’t as if there were many trained in the ancient magical art of blade telekinesis. Not in Gresit, anyway. Or Vienna.

Perhaps he was more skilled in magic than he let on. Perhaps he could tell you what was _happening_ to you. But then again, it was just as likely that he’d simply view you as an asset, a weapon, just as whatever Master of the men that had dragged you screaming from your home had been.

You threw off the blankets from yourself, careful not to look at the mottled bruising covering your skin, or the cumbersome brace that was all currently holding what remained of your ankle together.

You couldn’t stay. Not with the creeping dread taking hold of your heart. Alucard might have been well convinced that he hated you for the accident of your arrival, but you’d rather not drag whatever malice tracked you onto his doorstep. He deserved at least that for saving you.

* * *

Hell, she was stubborn.

He put his book down as he heard her swear under her breath, followed by the distinct sound of her landing in a heap in the hall. The only other person that he’d met that cursed so colorfully was Trevor.

Perhaps she was also an idiot.

He stood, taking his time to do so. If she wanted to leave so badly perhaps he should just open the door and let the night creatures have their way with her. Of course, his mother would berate him for even voicing such a thought.

‘ _If she wants to leave so badly than it because you have been such a poor host, my son. Have you no compassion to her plight?’_

He made a face, crossing to the door. His mother was so selflessly compassionate—how she could ever expect him to live up to her example was beyond him.

He rounded the corner, spotting her in a tangled heap on the stone floor, broken leg cocked to the side at what had to be an uncomfortable angle. She’d gotten farther than he’d first guessed, far enough that she had her face pressed between the bars of the railing that surrounded the hall. She looked down over the entranceway, her eyes cataloguing the patterns of the tiles, the patterns of dust swirling lightly over their surface.

“Have you finally convinced yourself of your limitations?” She didn’t look up at him, merely sighed in resignation.

“Could you just leave me here, just for a while?”

“You’ll catch your death—”

“Then so be it, as long as it is not in that room.” Her voice was sharp, sharp in the way of someone who meant exactly what they had said. He gave her a look before turning on his heel. He heard her murmur to herself as he turned the corner. Something about being too daft to watch her tongue.

He pulled open one of the many linen closets, pulling several blankets from inside before ducking into one of the bedrooms he knew had been occupied by one of his father’s generals. He dug through the wardrobe, looking for a dressing gown. If she truly wished to try his patience she could at least be dressed for it.

Besides, there was a part of him that realized how terribly bored she had to be, staring at the same ceiling for over a week. Perhaps he could see if there was anything in the library she might enjoy. His parents had been rather fond of novels on occasion.

That was the sort of thing young ladies enjoyed, wasn’t it?

This all wouldn’t be so hard if he had a base understanding of how other humans his age behaved. Truly he could look only to his friendship with Trevor and Sypha, both of whom—

Perhaps all humans were inherently stubborn.

He pulled a dressing gown and thick woolen socks from the wardrobe, tossing them atop the blankets. Even if it was only his own guilt voiced by the ghost of his mother, she was right. He had been a poor host. There were ways to remedy that while still keeping her at arm’s length. At least while she posted no threat.

Perhaps then she would stop begging him for death.

* * *

You looked up to see Alucard approaching once more, this time his arms laden with blankets. He looked away as he offered you a dressing gown, a thick woolen thing with such intricate embroidery that you merely stared at it, running a finger lightly over the thread.

“It’ll do you no good like that,” he said, taking it from you once more and placing it over your shoulders before smoothing out one of the thicker blankets across the stone floor. Your eyes flicked to his after a moment, almost in a daze.

“It reminded me of my mother.”

“Oh? Was she prone to lying about in her nightwear?”

You gave him a dirty look, though the effect was marred by the shock of his hands gently cradling you to move you onto the blanket.

“Not quite. She embroidered many pieces for fine ladies and gentlemen. She was rather well known for it.”

“Was?”

“She’s dead, as is my father.”

“Oh. I’m very sorry.” You were surprised to find that you believed him. You watched him settle next to you on the blanket, on the opposite side so it left nearly a foot between the pair of you. He toyed with the corner of one of the other blankets before handing it to her, eyes still downcast.

“That is a pain we share.” You stared down at the blanket, unsure of what to say. It was such a visceral connection and yet the pair of you were hardly more than strangers. You knew there were no words that could comfort such a loss, no platitude to ease the raggedness of the wound. There was only moving forward and learning to live with the pieces missing.

You hadn’t realized you’d begun to speak out loud. Truly you must be losing it, and after only a few days without human contact, even if it was only to tell you to shut your face before it was done for you.

“You speak with wisdom beyond your years.”

“It is merely the bitterness of experience.” He laughed at that, a short, sudden burst that nearly made you smile. You hesitated only a moment before continuing.

“I lost my mother when I was ten. I’ve had plenty of it. I—I’m sorry that you’ve lost your own mother. Fathers try their best but can never quite compare. Not when a piece of them dies with her.”

You sat in silence for a long time, half of you wondering if you’d made a terrible error in pressing the issue. You turned back to staring through the railings, pretending to catch faces and far off lands in the way the dust motes swirled in the shafts of sunlight pouring through the narrow windows.

“Why did they take you?” he asked, and you bit your lip, unsure of whether you even wished to answer. Still, you’d rather have someone to talk to than lament in deafening silence alone in your room once more.

“I’m not sure. They—they said their master wanted me, had wanted me for a long time. That he had been waiting, that he was paying them mountains of gold just for them to bring me to him.” You shivered, memories overtaking you. Of the weeks on the road in that filthy wagon. “They always made sure to remind me that he’d only specified that he wanted me alive, that intact and in one piece was only a bonus.”

You felt a sob rising in your throat and laughed, trying to force it back before you could do something as embarrassing as break down in front of Alucard. No, if none of those men had managed to see you cry, than neither would he. The last thing you needed was him thinking you weaker than he already did, for him to pity you more than he did. You knew that was what had kept you alive, what had moved him to help you in the first place. Damnable pity, the last thing you wished from anybody.

Pity wouldn’t bring back what you’d lost, neither your mother or your father, or would it bring back the virtue or innocence stolen from you. It wouldn’t unbreak your bones or un-bruise your skin, neither with it knit back together the lacerations that crisscrossed your body. It wouldn’t prevent the scars that were to come or protect you from the reaches of the Master and his ilk.

No, there was no use in pity, even if you were worthy of it.


	4. Rondo

It had not been uncommon for you to travel with your father after your mother died. He was, after all, an extremely well-respected bookmaker, in between the time he spent lecturing at the University. It wasn’t unusual for you to come downstairs for breakfast only to find him in the midst f frenzied packing for his newest adventure.

You’d been lucky enough to visit many of the great courts of Europe, from that of Bohemia and Kalmar to Lithuania and your sometimes-childhood home of Wallachia. You were always eager to accompany him on these trips, to see all that the growing world had to offer. It was seldom that you were able to come along when your mother was still alive—she’d always kept such a close eye on you, never wanting you to stay far from your townhouse in Vienna, unless it was for the frequent family trips back to Gresit, the city of her mother’s birth. There you’d always had a modicum more freedom, even under the oppressive umbrella of the Church there.

You couldn’t remember your family ever being all that religious, but you did remember spending every Sunday morning in Gresit packed into the cathedral with everyone else. Your mother would often tell you off for sneaking small treatises inside your bible to keep yourself entertained while the priest droned on about all the reasons the lot of you were to be damned to hell. You’d always figured that should your fate be so certain, you might as well be well-informed before you went. Besides, you had often argued, how were you to know precisely which infernal circle to aim for if you were not permitted to finish _Inferno_?

You and your father had moved back the Gresit after your mother’s passing. Sentiment, your father said it was, but you always wondered if it were something more. He spent his days searching the city and the surrounding towns for old friends, sometimes gone for days at a time, leaving you alone to run the small shop you kept. Sometimes he would take you with him, introducing you to great scholars or important leaders, letting you sit beside him as they discussed politics and philosophy, neither of which held much interest for you. You’d taken an interest into the natural sciences, one that was roundly discouraged by most in the principality.

Science, in Gresit, was the work of the devil. And women who perused any such knowledge were as soon to be burned as witches as they were to be laughed away.

It took you nearly three years of begging before your father finally agreed to return to Vienna. Though you were quite certain it was less your tired pleas than that of your near demise. Had you not fallen ill outside of Targovishte and had your father not found the good lady-doctor in his panic you doubted you’d have made it through the winter.

You remembered only flashes of being ill. Of waking up, feverish, to the feeling of a wet cloth being replaced over your forehead and a soothing female voice telling you to sleep. Of your father, hunched over your bedside, begging you not to follow your mother before him. Of an unfamiliar man’s voice speaking of iron and ley-lines as you felt as though you were being torn apart. Of voices in your head, telling you to follow, of deep red eyes and clawed hands. Of black earth and the clinging chill of underground, of the way it made your bones ache. Of catching sight of yourself in a glass only to find your reflection unfamiliar, your hair gone bright silver, your eyes more vibrant than you remembered. You remembered glaring at the scars left on your arms from your sickness, scars from which you had been bled somehow thicker and more raised than any you had seen before.

Still, for months even after you returned home to Vienna you awoke in terror, convinced that you were once more locked in the dark terror of your strange illness. Your father took you to yet another doctor, though this one merely prescribed you enough angelica, thyme, and burdock to stop you dreaming all together.

It was only since you’d been taken that the dreams had started once again.

Dreams of darkness and muddled voices, dreams that you awake from bloodied and aching. Dreams that you could never quite remember, no matter who hard you tried.

* * *

You awoke the next day with a hacking cough, doubled over in bed. You could feel something splatter against the palm you held over your mouth. You flipped your hand over, eyes wide when you saw a splattering of blood, though it wasn’t what worried you.

No, it was the soil clumps that were soaked in the stuff.

You collapsed in another fit of coughing, your body not allowing any time for your panic. You heard the door open and turned away, wiping what you could onto the lining of the dressing gown you still wore. You didn’t want to have to explain that this wasn’t something new, or that it wasn’t the soil that worried you, but the ever-growing amount. You didn’t want to explain that this had begun the third night tied inside that caravan, that you’d been so hysterical that the young man in charge of watching you had simply knocked you out with the pommel of his blade rather than listen to you.

You thought that maybe, just maybe, it all would have stopped, now that they were dead.

“Easy. Easy there, let’s get you sat up.” You felt Alucard’s slender hands pulling you into an upright position, pushing the curtain of your hair away from your face so he could get a better look at you.

You didn’t realize he’d been rubbing soothing circles into your back until your coughing finally ceased and you were left heaving ragged breaths, and only then by its absence when he disappeared out of the room. He returned carrying a steaming bowl, a towel thrown over one shoulder. He set it on the bedside table, dipping the towel into the water and wringing it out before turning back to look at you.

“Is this the first time you’ve coughed up blood?” he asked, voice softer than what you were used to. You shook your head, the room swimming around you.

“First time…here,” you wheezed, too weak to refuse him as he cleaned the crimson from your lips, your chin, your hand. His brows furrowed as he looked at the cloth.

“It’s darker in color than it should be. Have you been treated for any sort of clotting disorder in the past?”

“I don’t…I’m not sure.” Your voice sounded like gravel, even to your own ears. You closed your eyes, curling in on yourself as much as you were able to. You were suddenly so tired you could hardly keep your head aloft. You heard footsteps retreating once more, for the first time glad to hear them go. You just wanted to sleep, just wanted to give in to the blackness.

It would be so easy to just give in…

To give in to the lichen and the loam, give in to the whispers of the dark and damp.

“Elyra.”

You felt slender hands forcing you to sit up once more, placing a cup to your lips, tipping back something somehow astringent and sickly sweet. You choke on it and the cup disappears for a moment, only to be brought back when you settle.

“It’ll help. Just try to drink it.” You give a half-hearted hum of acknowledgement, doing your best not to choke. It soothes the burn in your throat, enough that you feel you can draw breath without the blinding pain of before.

* * *

Alucard found himself hesitant to leave her bedside. While her breathing had evened out, it was still labored. He’d awoken to the hacking of her cough, something he’d first passed off and a simply human imposition. But when it hadn’t ceased he’d crossed to her room, still wrapping a robe around himself. Even now the first light of dawn was only just beginning to crest over the tree tops.

He left only to plunder his mother’s study, looking for answers. He knew blood in the lungs should be bright, luridly red. For it to be a burgundy near-black was troubling, as was the consistency. It was thick, sluggishly so.

He thought a moment before dumping the stack of tomes into one of the armchairs by the fire and lugging it down to the woman’s room. It would be best to be close, he decided, should something else happen.


	5. Poco a Poco

You awoke to the light sound of flipping pages.

For a moment you could almost believe that you had just fallen asleep in your father’s study, that the last few months were nothing but a terrible, terrible dream. That when you opened your eyes you would find yourself sprawled on the sofa by the window, book in hand, your father reading at his great mahogany desk. That he would turn and smile at you and tell you how you’d slept through dinner once again, how he’d tell her he’d known cats that spent less time napping in the afternoon sun.

You opened your eyes to find Alucard’s golden ones peering at you, legs propped on the side of your bed as he read. He set the book down after marking his place before moving to sit at the edge of the bed, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead.

“Your temperature dropped while you slept. It’s finally rising again. Only then did you notice the mass of blankets you were buried under, the dark pelts that were built up like a mountain above you. You ran a hand over one of them absently.

“Thank you. You—you didn’t have to stay.”

“Think nothing of it. Are you hungry?”

You shook your head, the very thought of trying to choke anything down your throat repulsive. Alucard nodded “Later then. I brought a book I thought you might like in the meantime. Something to amuse yourself with.”

“A book?” you repeated, feeling the whole of your face light up. How long had it last been since you’d been able to lose yourself in paper and ink?

“You are aware of what they are, yes?”

“If I don’t say something rude back, can I please read it now?”

You could have sworn Alucard nearly smiled at that, passing you a narrow volume. You wasted no time in cracking into it, feeling almost as if a weight had been lifted from your chest. Yes, you were still debilitatingly injured and bedbound in the mysterious castle of a stranger, yes, you had spent most of the day coughing up grave dirt from your lungs, but at least now you held a book.

You expected Alucard to slip out of the room once you had awoken, grateful that his time necessitated at your side was blissfully over. Instead he merely sat back in his chair, once more propping his feet up on your bedpost and went back to his own book. In fact, he only looked up when you finished, pausing a moment before flipping back to the beginning.

“Have you finished already?”

“It’s alright, I’ll just read it again if you don’t mind.”

“I—I can fetch you another volume, if you’d prefer. I suppose I just hadn’t thought you’d get through it as fast as you did.”

“I’d be a poor bookmaker if I wasn’t a fast reader.”

“A bookmaker?”

“My father had a few small shops. One in Vienna, beneath our home and one in Gresit. He taught me, when I was young. I’d planned to keep the shop going after he passed. Who’s to say what’s happened to it now.”

You looked down under the guise of flipping through the pages only to hide the way you swallowed thickly. It was funny how something as simple as a book made you miss your father so much your heart felt as if it were trying to pull itself from your ribs.

“He was a good man, my father. He’d always wanted lots of children but him and my mother only ever could have me. But he never acted disappointed though. Never wished I’d been born a son—he used to tell me if I had I wouldn’t have been half so good at sewing the signatures together. Said it took clever hands to make books. And clever hands took a clever mind. He once fought with the Rector of the University to see me admitted, as if I’d have a chance. A girl, with a university education, could you imagine? Still, he told me it was never an excuse to forego a proper education, even if it had to be a less-traditional one. My world is truly bleaker for him being gone from it.”

You looked up to find Alucard staring at you and blushed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be blabbering your ear off. I just get a bit…sentimental about books.”

“Don’t apologize. My—my father too valued knowledge, nearly above all.”

“Do you think they would have gotten along?”

Alucard laughed, taking you by surprise. “That I cannot say. My father was never the fondest of humans—”

“Humans?” you asked, brows furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

Alucard sighed, pursing his lips. “My father was not human.”

“What else could he possibly be?” you asked, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. If this was Alucard’s way of trying to scare you, he was going about it the wrong way.

“A vampire.”

You laughed. “Are you trying to frighten me with crib tales?”

Alucard stared at you, looking rather dumbfounded. “So magic, you don’t bat an eye, but vampires—”

“Magic is but science not yet understood.”

“Magic is intent and it does act in a systematic fashion. And vampires, I can assure you, are very real.”

You stared at him a long moment. “If your father was a vampire, that would make you one as well and it would seem very counter intuitive to nurse back to health an annoying human when you could simply eat them without moral reservation.”

“You posit that there could be no moral repercussions in a vampire taking a human life?”

“If they were to exist than what would be the difference in their taking a human life than a wolf taking that of a deer?”

“Would not the ability to reason and empathize create a moral quandary?”

“By that right, wouldn’t it be a flawed system, since it holds a human code of ethics as paramount over other reasoning creatures? Especially if by introducing a more supreme apex predator it would then be by their system of morality that the so-called lesser beings would be judged?”

Alucard sighed, shaking his head. “My father would have liked you.”

“Your father, the vampire?”

“Yes, my father the vam—” he hissed at you, bearing his teeth. You leaned forward, taking notice of his unusually long incisors. Still, overlarge teeth could be accounted for in any number of ways ranging from cognitive defects to a climate-based adaptation. Couldn’t they?

Because if vampires were to exist than who was to say that demons didn’t, or werewolves, or strigas or any other type of dark creatures. Who was to say that there weren’t creatures that could drown you in dirt as you slept?

“Alucard, tell me now if you are lying to try and frighten me,” you said, doing your best to glare at him even though you knew your apprehension was clear.

“I am not.”

“An—and you really are a vampire?”

“A dhampir, but for our purposes now, yes.”

You paused a moment as you mind whirred. “Well, I suppose if you were looking for a moral argument justifying your eating me, I’ve given you several.”

“I can assure you I’m not planning on eating you.”

“Well don’t ruin the surprise. Besides, best to keep your options open.”

“You’re really not afraid of me?”

“I—I don’t think so. You’ve given me no reason to. Without you I am sure that death would have been the kindest thing bestowed on me.”


	6. Passacaglia

There was something horribly wrong with her.

There had to be. For her to know nothing of vampires and then to accept his being one so simply—even Sypha and Trevor had tried to kill him upon finding out. Was she merely biding her time?

But then there were the questions—not the usual stakes and holy water sort of questions, but her own brand of oddity. The first thing she’d wanted to know was the difference between a vampire and a dhampir. Then was the wave of existentialism of what it meant then to truly _be_ a vampire.

Still, the fact that she wasn’t scared of him, that she seemed somehow less so was…comforting.

He told himself that it would be much harder for him to care for her if she was terrified of him. That it would be quite easy for her to allow her condition to worsen for fear that he might be trying to cast some sort of vampiric spell over her with her morning oats.

No, if he was being honest, he rather liked having someone to talk to.

“So you’re telling me that you heard nothing of the invasion of night creatures upon Wallachia,” he asked over breakfast, which they’d taken to sharing together in the kitchen. She’d been more inclined to allow him to help her get about the castle in the days since his revelation.

“Not a word. I’d been in Vienna up until those horrid men dragged me out of my bed.”

“Do you keep your heads buried under rocks in Vienna?”

“Under fashionable hats, actually. And we had plenty enough to be dealing with what with that idiot child Maximillian on the throne and the Hungarians salivating at our southern borders.”

“And you think this idiot child-king is comparable to the hosts of hell?”

“I can’t make a fair assessment, I’m only personally familiar with the idiot,” she replied, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I’m sure you could wager a guess, seeing as it’s all of _hell_ —”

“Alucard, I didn’t even _believe_ in hell before a few days ago. And now I know it definitely exists and I’m _definitely_ going there—”

“Why on earth would you believe you’d end up in hell?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Have you been committing atrocities that I’m not aware of?”

“Oh loads, I’ve become Overlord over all the mites and beetles and we leave naught but destruction in our paths.”

“Humor me. Why do you think you’ll go to hell?”

She sighed, staring down at the grain of the table. “Because I have a hateful heart. Because sometimes I lie awake at night and I am forced to relieve all that those men did to me, all that they took from me and I seethe over the fact that their deaths were easy. And I know, if given the opportunity I would not have been as merciful as you.”

“Elyra, that doesn’t mean—”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Elyra, what they did, it’s not—”

“Please, Alucard.”

He sighed, frowning. “As you wish.”

He grabbed the dishes from the table and crossed to the sink, more out of something to do than the need for them to be cleaned right then. He listened to the sound of Elyra shifting in her chair, the slight squeal of the legs against the stone.

“Explain to me again how the castle draws water up into the sinks.”

He smiled. She was truly full of endless curiosity.

They weren’t friends, no—he thought perhaps they were both too broken for that. But whatever they were, it was enough.

* * *

The nightmares were growing worse.

Hardly a night had passed that you hadn’t spent part of retching bloody earth, though you’d learned to hide it from Alucard better. You didn’t know how you’d explain the dirt or the scratches that kept appearing across your skin. You didn’t know how you’d explain the voices calling to you in that frightening tongue you _nearly_ understood, or the dark eyes that watched you from the shadows.

You didn’t know how to explain it all without sounding insane. Perhaps you were. Perhaps this all was a construct of your own madness.

You just feared Alucard might pay the price for it. You couldn’t let that happen.

Not when he had been so good to you. Treated you with kindness, treated as an equal when for so long after your father’s death you’d only been a woman. A woman who spoke too loudly and too much.

You’d forgotten what it felt like to be treated merely as a person.

Part of you longed to ask Alucard for help, knew that perhaps, if he didn’t know what was happening to you, he’d know where to locate a book in his massive collect. That he’d be able to explain the magic taking hold of you in the night.

He’d told you magic was intent. And someone was very intent on hurting you. It was if something was unraveling, as if with each passing day it became easier and easier for him to reach into your mind and torment you.

It was always the same face, half lost in shadows. The same yellowed teeth telling you to come to him, to give in. That it would all be over soon enough anyway.

* * *

Alucard gently steadied her as she took her first wobbling steps in weeks, leaning heavily into his side. Her fingers were fisted in the fabric of his shirt, a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. He’d fashioned a sort of walking brace to start allowing her some mild exercise, less both her legs atrophy for lack of movement.

“Oh, tell me we’re nearly done,” she said, brows furrowed.

“Does it hurt too much? Perhaps we should wait a bit longer—”

“No, not terribly. Just—it’s much harder than it was before. Just to take a dozen steps feels like I’ve run miles and miles.”

“It will get easier if we keep exercising.”

She nodded, holding her breath as she stepped forward on her broken foot. They walked in silence for a few more moments, until she looked up at him, perplexed.

“Why are you doing all of this for me?”

“So you’ll get better. What kind of idiot question is that?”

“I mean in the broader sense. Why save me at all? It would have been much easier to have just let them take me back.”

“They were talking of cutting off your toes when I arrived, if I remember correctly.”

“That didn’t mean you had to do anything about it. It wasn’t the first time I’d run, you know. I’d managed to slip away just after we’d gotten into Wallachia, waited for the first half-decent sized town. I didn’t get far before the biggest one caught up to me. He beat me bloody in the square, in the middle of the market and no one said a word. They figured I’d done something to deserve it.”

“There are very few people that deserve to have their toes cut off.”

“Then how did you know I wasn’t one of them?”

“I didn’t.”

“But what if I am one of them?”

“What are you talking about? Surely you’re not going to try and convince me to cut off your toes?” he replied, his tone playful even if it didn’t match the steel in his eyes.

“What if there’s something wrong with me? What if that’s why I was taken? What if they come looking for me and they find you here and they hurt you—”

“You’re worrying over nothing. No harm will come to you while you’re in the castle.”

“But what about you? If they—I’d never forgive myself.”

“Are you forgetting who you’re speaking to? I believe I’ve demonstrated how capable I am of taking care of myself.”

She looked down at the floor, the arm looped around his waist tightening slightly. “If someone comes to take me, you must promise me that you’ll not fight them. It would not be worth you getting hurt, not for someone like me. Promise me, Alucard.”

“Why would I do that? Who do you think is coming for you?”

“I don’t know, I just—I have nightmares of being dragged from my bed once more, but this time—this time you’re there and they _hurt_ you and I can’t bear it.”

“They’re just dreams, Elyra. Bad ones, but dreams still. They can’t harm you, nor me, I promise.”


	7. Leitmotif

You stared at the open book without really seeing it. Instead you listened to the sounds of Alucard bustling around the kitchen as he fixed breakfast, humming lightly under his breath. He seemed…almost happy today. Lighter somehow. You wondered what had prompted the change and hoped that it continued. He deserved to be happy, you knew that for sure.

“You haven’t turned a page in ten minutes,” he said, placing a steaming plate at your elbow. You looked up, pink dusting your cheeks.

“What was the song you were humming? It sounded familiar.”

“Something my mother used to sing to me. I’ve had it stuck in my head.”

“Did she like to sing?”

“On occasion. Mostly to help me fall asleep.”

You smiled down at your plate before digging in. You wondered what Alucard had looked like as a child. Probably like the cherubs you’d seen painted in Italy when you’d gone with your father.

You wondered if he’d been a smartass then as well.

There was something rather endearing about the thought of a cherubic child informing grown adults that he wouldn’t suffer trespassers.

“What are you smirking about?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“That’s rarely a good thing.”

“Ooh, good one. Gold star,” you said with a mocking smile. He rolled his eyes.

“You’re an infuriating creature.”

“I do try.” He smiled at that.

“I was actually thinking myself, perhaps it would do you some good to get a bit of sunshine.”

“Leave the castle?”

“No, I thought I’d bring it to you,” he replied, his mocking tone laden with amusement.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. It’s been nearly a month and a half since you’ve been here. Some fresh air and sunlight will do you good.”

You nodded, trying to push down the bubble of anxiety in you. You didn’t know why the thought of leaving the safety of the castle made you want the refuse, to hide behind its grey stone. Perhaps it was the thought of passing over the threshold where you came so close to dying, or the figure staked outside, or maybe it was just the thought of the forest itself.

You’d lived in cities all your live, were comfortable with their bustle and noise. There were parks in Vienna that you’d sometimes take a stroll through if the urge hit you, but they were manicured things, as man-made as the buildings that surrounded them.

The forest though, it was wild, untamed. It was unknown. And for some reason, it frightened you.

* * *

Alucard had thought she might be excited at the prospect of getting out of the castle for a few hours. He’d been more than a little surprised by her reaction. Still, she hadn’t objected, so to say, so he continued on as planned.

He’d opted to carry her, rather than have her try and walk. Her foot was no where near healed enough to attempt stairs, nor was he convinced it would fair well on the uneven forest floor.

Her grip around his neck tightened as they crossed the threshold of the castle and pressed her face into the crook of his neck, holding her breath.

“Ah, yes, I forgot to warm you of the smell,” he said, walking faster past the rotting corpses of Taka and Sumi. His stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with the nauseating smell.

What had happened the last time he allowed people in? Had he forgotten so readily? A few months with Elyra and he could feel the cracks in his walls, the way her laughter wormed its way into his heart.

How long would it be before she betrayed him too?

He pushed the thought away angrily. It was unfair to her, when she’d giving him no reason. When she seemed intent to protect him, even from the evils of her dreams.

“It’s safe to breathe now,” he said, and he felt her exhale against his neck, though she didn’t pull away.

“Are they gone?” she asked, voice trembling slightly.

“They are. There’s nothing to be frightened of.”

“There’s plenty to be frightened of.”

“Oh?”

“There’s wolves, bears—”

“Do you really think that a stray wolf will pose much of a challenge for me?”

“—overconfident dhampirs, lynx—”

“Oh, you’re funny, aren’t you?”

They walked in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of birds singing in the branches above. After a few minutes she looked up, taking in the forest around them. There was a sense of wonder mixed with her fear.

Had she never explored a forest before? There had to be wilderness between Vienna and Gresit, had she never stopped to see the sights?

He finally stopped in a clearing that had been overtaken by wildflowers, a stream gurgling somewhere off in the distance.

“I have to put you down to set up, hold onto me to steady yourself.”

He set her and the basket he’d packed down before spreading out the blanket before helping her to the ground. She reached towards the flowers surrounding them only to draw back her hand as if burned.

“It’s alright to touch them. I promise they will not bite.”

“I know!” she replied, giving him a dirty look. Her outrage made him laugh. He unpacked the basket onto the blanket, placing a stack of books at her side. He’d noticed she’d taken an interest in the natural sciences and had picked a few volumes he’d thought she’d enjoy. Then he stood, meaning to forage what he could for dinner.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I thought it might be nice to have fish for dinner, perhaps with some turnips and greens?”

“You’re leaving me here?”

“Only for a little while. I won’t be far.”

“I thought—” she broke off looking away.

“You thought what?”

“Nothing, I’m being silly.”

“Elyra—”

“I’ll be fine.”

He surveyed her another moment before nodding and heading towards the stream. For anyone else a few hours in the midst of an idyllic clearing would be a most diverting morning. But the prospect seemed to terrify her. Part of him knew he should stay, ease her fears as much as she was able, but part of him knew that would only be letting her in further.

He couldn’t make the same foolish errors again.

* * *

You watched Alucard go, half wanting to call out and beg him not to leave you alone, not in the middle of this damnable forest. You knew you were being stupid and silly and childish. You knew—but you couldn’t tame the dread in your heart.

You reached once more towards one of the wildflowers, running your finger along the velvet of its petal. It seemed to shiver under your touch and you pulled back. It was only a flower, it shouldn’t feel so _alive_. It shouldn’t leave your hand tingling as if electricity was pulsing through it.

You turned to the pile of books Alucard had left, hoping to distract yourself. Astronomy, chemistry, and physiology. A smile tugged at your lips. There really wasn’t much he missed, even if it was as trivial as the books you liked to steal after he’d finished them.

You hated how fond of Alucard you’d grown. He was insufferably clever and quick witted, sarcasm coming as easy to him as breathing. He was selflessly kind, to the point of his own detriment, though he did what he could to disguise it behind surliness. A part of you wished that you could simply stay, even after you’d healed, reading and pushing each other’s buttons and doing your best to restore the castle to its former glory. That you could call him your friend, that you’d finally have someone who took your thirst for knowledge seriously, that encouraged it.

You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed it, after your father passed.

But Alucard still had skeletons in his front lawn to attend to. You often wondered what they’d done to earn such a fate. The cruelty of it seemed out of character for him, though you could scarcely judge. You knew the sins of your soul, had you been able to make those men pay for what they’d done to you yourself.

It was easy to see that they’d hurt him, deeply. It was clear in the chilly way he treated you most of the time, in the way he so violently pushed you away every time he felt he’d opened up too much, let you glimpse the man underneath the veil of anger and hurt.

You’d been so lost in thought that you hadn’t noticed the creeping tendril wrapping its was around your wrist. It was only when you tried to reach for the physiology book that you realized you’d been ensnared.

You cried out, trying to tug away but it was too strong, instead wrapping higher up along your forearm. You scrabbled back towards the other side of the blanket, grabbing the knife Alucard had packed with the lunch things and slashed at it, severing it on one go. You pulled off the tendrils, flinging them into the brush in your terror.

“What’s wrong? Are you--?” Alucard broke off as he burst back into the clearing, eyes wide. He saw only you covering in the center of the blanket, chest heaving. You turned to him, eyes shining.

“Please, I don’t want to be out here anymore.”

“What happened?”

“I—I don’t know. I must be going mad.” Still, you glanced down at your arm cradled against your chest and saw the vivid red marks left by the vine. You clenched your fist, drawing your knees to your chest and burying your head.

You hoped you were going mad.

The alternatives were so much worse.


	8. Cantata

She had trembled in his arms the whole way back, simply curling in around herself as much as she was able when he’d placed her back in her bed. She didn’t say what had happened, despite his inquiries. His only clues were that of the fresh contusions around her wrist.

He’d doubled back to the clearing, if only to satisfy his curiosity.

Elyra had never struck him as a fearful person. Not without reason. How could she be, when the first words she spoke to him were to beg for death, if only it also ensured her captors? Or when she was confronted with his being a dhampir to merely bury him in questions rather than shrink away from him?

What about the forest left her locked in terror?

He did a doubletake when he reached the meadow—it was nearly unrecognizable. The wildflowers had doubled in size, their blooms twice as vibrant. All but for the circle where he’d placed the blanket, where he’d come back to her cowering in its center. There, the plants had withered and died, leaving nothing more than brown husks.

He stooped, pulling at one of the withered flowers only to have it turn to dust in his hand.

* * *

You must have been five, or maybe six. You had been in Gresit for the fall, playing in your father’s back room as he saw customers. You could hear his booming voice as he laughed and joked with patrons, always so perfectly at ease. You smiled, climbing up onto one of the chairs, doll in hand, to play at the open window. You dragged your doll through the window box, making her dance among the flowers that should have long before begun to wilt.

“What a pretty dolly you have there, dear.”

You looked up to find a man casting the window box in shadow, his raven hair overlong and pulled back with a silk ribbon. He was beautiful in a way you’d never thought men could be, like the paintings of angels. He smiled and there was a sharpness to his features, something dangerous, but not altogether off-putting.

“Did you make her yourself?”

You shook your head. “My mama did.”

“She must love you very much.” You nodded vehemently. You looked up at him with wide eyes as he reached out and gently trailed the back of his hand along your face, smoothing a tendril of hair back behind your ear. You stared up as if frozen in his gaze, your heart hammering in your ears.

“Are you happy here, Moonbeam? Is it yet time?”

“Time?” you stuttered, still frozen to the spot. You felt as if there were tiny electric currents flowing from his hand, into you and back out, as if all of the sudden you could _feel_ the thrum of all the life around you.

“Elyra, darling, you would not believe how far Master Bisset has traveled, just for a copy of our—Oh! Can I help you with something?”

Your father crossed to your side, arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders. Still, the man only laughed.

“If only, but I am afraid I’m only passing by. Your lovely daughter dropped her doll and I merely stopped to retrieve it for her,” he said, handing you back your doll. You didn’t think you’d dropped it but—you must have, otherwise how else would the kind man have been able to give it to you?

“Many thanks,” your father said, giving you a wide smile. “We do ask that she doesn’t play in the window, but she loves the flowers so, I tend to let her when her mother is out.”

“A little soil and flowers never hurt anyone.”

“Quite right!”

“Well, I’d best be off. Pleasure meeting both of you.”

You looked down at the doll in your hands, brow furrowed. It looked like your doll—it had the same dark hair and blue dress—but its hair was tied back with the same silk ribbon the man had worn and there was a forelock of silver in her hair.

“Did you get flour in your hair darling?” your father asked, swiping at the same piece of hair the man had tucked behind your ear. You weren’t surprised later to find that it had gone silver too. Nor were you surprised to find the window box garden had exploded with fresh blooms.

* * *

He watched the dhampir go, sharp eyes noting the path he favored.

He’d been foolish to bring the girl outside, foolish to give him an even greater hold over her than he already had. Before he’d been working with a memory—now he had her blood.

It would only be a matter of time now, before she was in his grasp.

She had been right to be afraid, even if he doubted she knew why—her time of freedom was coming to an end. Now it would be the time for her to play her part, that part she’d been born for.

What better time to do so than in the midst of the huge power vacuum left by Dracula’s demise?


	9. Berceuse

You were drowning.

You could feel yourself being dragged further under the surface, thick, viscous fluid filling your lungs as you gasped for air. Your eyes stung, seeing nothing but crimson around you. You kicked out, trying desperately to claw your way back to the surface, but it was no use.

Tendrils of vines wrapped around your ankles, dragging you further down, until there was nothing but cold and darkness and a set of gleaming yellowed teeth, their canines sharp and overgrown.

“ _It’s time.”_

You struggled, tearing at your binds. You wouldn’t give in, you couldn’t—You were too stubborn, had made it too far to give in now.

“ _It would be easy. Just let go. It’s not as if we won’t find you. He won’t protect you. What’s the point of putting it off? You already know you can’t win.”_

Black spots overtook your vision as you took a final, stuttering breath, one handle still trying to claw free of the vines.

* * *

She slept for two days, her skin mottled, pale, and clammy. He’d wrapped her arm in bandages soaked in a salve to reduce inflammation, which helped some, but not as much as it should. In the meantime he just sat in the chair next to her bed, scowering books he’d pulled from the Belmont Hold to try and come up with any reason for what he’d found in the clearing.

Clearly, he’d missed something.

Though, whether it was her own magical nature or simply the magical nature of something very much hunting her, he was uncertain. Had she been lying to him? Had she been hiding these abilities? What had changed?

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be furious.

She had obviously tricked him, lied to him. Another wayward human wandering into his life, only to deceive him, to drag with them evil hidden behind pretty features.

But then again, had she? Hadn’t he been the one to scoff at the idea of her being hunted, of something coming after her, following her into the forest around the castle?

He looked up at the sound of her hacking cough, abandoning his book to turn her to her side, cradling her head carefully as her chest spasmed and she coughed black blood onto the sheets. Her eyes fluttered but didn’t open, her whole form trembling in his arms.

What if she died like this, leaving him with another corpse to bury, another ghost to haunt his dreams?

Holding her like this, he could feel how frail she’d become, how skeletal, even after nearly two months of proper meals. Had he really not noticed her withering?

She drew a shuttering breath, her voice a barely audible rasp.

“Al—Alucard?”

“I’m here.”

“You h-have to let me go. Send me away.”

“What are you talking about? You can’t even walk.”

“He’s coming for me. I know it.”

“Who?”

“The man who bought me, I don’t know who exactly. But—” she broke off in a violent coughing fit, blood splattering the pillow, the front of her nightshirt, “Oh god.”

“It’s going to be alright,” he found himself saying, rubbing gentle circles into her back. “You’re safe here. Nothing will be able to harm you—”

She laughed, the sound tortured and broken. “It already has. What’s to stop it now?”

* * *

You sat in the living room of the Vienna house, pretending to read as you strained to hear the muffled argument in your parent’s bedroom. They never argued—you couldn’t even remember a time you’d heard your father raise his voice. The sound left the sick taste of fear in your throat.

“How could you not tell me? That she’s—she’s—” he broke off, and sat heavily on the bed.

“You—We wanted a child so badly, and I couldn’t—”

“I just don’t understand why you lied. About everything.”

“Not everything! I never lied when I told you I loved you.”

He laughed without humor. “What—what does all this mean for her, then?”

“What does what mean?”

They hadn’t heard you rise from your place on the sofa or push open the door. You watched their eyes grow round with surprise, the way that your mother’s eyes darted away from your own, as if she couldn’t bear to look at you.

The arguments had started after the strange man had appeared at the window, after the gifts had started to appear. Bright flowers and hair ribbons, a beautiful doll that looked uncannily like you. You stared at the pair of them, tears welling up in your eyes.

“What’s wrong with me?” you asked, staring up at your parents, your whole world suddenly uncertain. Your father was the first to move, scooping you up into his arms and burying his face in your hair as he squeezed you almost too tight.

“Nothing, my darling. Nothing is wrong with you.”

You held on tight, the pit in your stomach not allowing you to believe him.

* * *

Alucard waited until she’d fallen back asleep for the night to slip back into his chambers. He was exhausted, exhausted from nursing her back to health once more, exhausted from the dozens of tomes he’d spent scowering looking for any kind of answer.

Had his mother or father been here, they’d have been able to help her, at least provide answers—there was something distinctly supernatural to Elyra’s condition, but he still wasn’t able to curb its physical effects. What if she simply grew weaker and more susceptible to whatever was tormenting her?

When had he begun to care?

He was supposed to be done with humans, done with the whole lying, cheating, murderous lot of them. And yet here he was, nursing one back to health, losing sleep over her condition.

He couldn’t fall into the same trap that he had with Taka and Sumi, give her an ounce of trust only for her to slit his throat with it.

Though she hardly seemed capable…

He threw himself angrily down onto the bed. He wished he could ask his mother what to do, how to move forward after, well, _everything._ Somehow she always seemed to know what to do, made it seem as if it had been obvious all along—

Maybe it was and he was just horribly obtuse.

There had to be something he could do. He wasn’t sure he could be rid of this new ache in his heart if there wasn’t. No, he thought, turning over and burying his head in his pillow, if that were to happen she’d become yet another ghost haunting the halls of his childhood home, another reminder of his many failings.


	10. Fugue

Alucard woke in the dead of night to the sound of a panicked scream.

He was out of bed before he fully registered the noise, down the hall before he’d registered the voices as the girl’s. _Elyra’s_.

Had someone broken into the castle? Had she somehow injured herself further? He wouldn’t put it past her, she was nearly as stubborn as Trevor—

He threw open the door, eyes darting about the room only to find it empty, Elyra still in her bed.

Still, she whimpered, thrashing wildly, her arms bent back at an unnatural angle, her sling torn free. He took a step forward, only to freeze.

Her hands were restrained by black briars, her eyes open and vacant, a sheen of sweat glistening on her brow. The briars crept over her chest, around her neck, encircling her as if they wished to pull her down into the mattress and below, into the very ground.

“No…I won’t. You can’t—” she wheezed, her voice like a death rattle, hands grasping at nothing. Alucard darted forward, tearing at the briars. As soon as he freed one of her hands she reached up to the ones encircling her neck and tugged, ignoring the how they tore into her skin. They seemed the shiver before turning to brittle charcoal and shattering.

She turned onto her side, still sucking in pained gasps of air, her eyes glinting in the darkness. He made quick work of the briars still encircling her chest and her other hand, sending a wave of intent at the light switch, bathing them in light.

She was covered in blood from where the briars had dug in, bleeding far more than she would have, had it been ordinary bramble. Her face was a shock of white, the silver of her hair spattered with blood. Tears flooded her eyes as she finally focused on his face.

“Alucard…he—he found me.”

“Who—hang on, I need bandages, I’ve got to stop this bleeding—”

“No!” she cried, catching his wrist with surprising strength as he turned to go. “Please, I—if he comes back—” she broke off, looking so terrified that he didn’t think. He just scooped her up and carried her to his room, placing her on his bed where he could gather supplies and still keep an eye on her.

“What happened?”

“He found me.”

“Who? Who was that?”

“I don’t—I don’t—”

“It’s going to be alright—”

“It burns! Alucard—” He grabbed hold of her hands as she began to tear into her wounds with a kind of frenzied madness, her fingers stained crimson. She fought to free herself from his hold, thrashing as if being lashed by hot iron.

“Elyra—ELYRA!” She froze at his shout, eyes wide and fearful. She fell limp, though he could see the effort it took her to do so. She trembled as he cleaned away the blood, the wounds red and inflamed like burns. He paused, looking closer, something glimmering in the wound catching his attention. A bit of wire, impossibly thin, wrapped into her flesh where the briars had been. He pulled it out, finding it present in all the wounds but those on her neck. He stared at it a long moment before setting it aside and wrapping her wounds with a practiced hand.

What sort of magic left physical traces like this? Or could reach through such great distances? Did the caster have a distance mirror, where they able to spy on her? But then again, if they knew enough about her to know her face, to know where to find her, then how likely was it really that she didn’t know them?

Was that why she was so keen to leave the castle, even when she couldn’t walk? Was she running from more than just kidnappers in the forest?

He thought back to the way that her eyes had gazed over, how they’d turned stark white as she’d struggled. Wracking his brain he couldn’t think of a single spell that had those types of effects, at least not with everything else that had happened. Maybe something in the Belmont Hold would have answers, some old and forgotten magic.

She stayed unnaturally still even after he finished, as if she were frightened to even breathe. She was deathly pale, the specks of blood on the side of her face standing out all the more for it. He wiped them away with his thumb almost absently, his eyes still locked on her own.

“I—I heard you scream,” he said, the hair on the back of his neck still standing on end.

“I was having a nightmare. I thought—I thought I was being pulled into a grave. But—it felt so real and I was being dragged down until—until you were there, you cut me free.”

“That was powerful magic, powerful enough to break through the Castle’s wards. Do you know who could’ve done it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t—I just saw a man, with these dark, empty eyes and he was calling to me, telling me that it was time, that I came to him, that I _belonged_ to him and, and—” she broke off with a sob, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his chest.

“Don’t let him take me, Alucard—please. _Please_.”

It took him a moment before he wrapped a tentative arm around her, smoothing back the hair from her face as his mind raced.

“I won’t. I won’t.”

He glanced down at her fingers only to spy the earth still lodged under her nails, black and stained with her own blood.

* * *

Alucard didn’t sleep for a moment.

Not after her sobs subsided or her breathing steadied. Not after she finally succumbed to sleep, still clinging to him as if he alone could protect her from the ills of the world. 

Half of him knew it was because he couldn’t sleep with another in his bed, not after Taka and Sumi. Not even with this broken husk of a girl.

The other half could not even hope to guess what he had to defend her from. She seemed to be being attacked from the inside out, as if whoever was tormenting her need only to find purchase in her dreams to harm her.

He glanced down at her as she took a shuddering breath, her grip tightening on the collar of his shirt. He smoothed a hand over her hair, trying to soothe her as she trembled.

How long had she been fighting this demon in her nightmares? Alone? Why hadn’t she just come to him, they could have searched the Belmont Hold, he could have placed wards on her to protect her—

But then again, hadn’t he told her they were nothing to worry about, that the nightmares couldn’t hurt her? If only he’d known how very wrong he’d been.

The memory of her being restrained, being torn apart by those briars would haunt him, likely for all his years. The way she had clung to him, as if she trusted him and him alone to save her—he didn’t even know where to start.

But he wanted to.

He wanted to save Elyra, the broken, infuriating girl that had been chased to his door, that begged him for death, that doubted the existence of vampires and night creatures but didn’t doubt that she would be damned herself. He wanted to argue with her about philosophy and discuss books and share meals in the kitchen.

He didn’t want to be alone anymore.


	11. Etude

He spent most of the morning searching for answers in the Belmont’s Hold. He’d fallen asleep sometime in the night, lulled by her rhythmic breathing and warmth curled against him, only to jerk awake in a panic. She hadn’t woken, which was a mixed blessing, and he’d checked her vitals carefully before leaving.

There was the distance mirror in the hold after all, he’d be able to check on her as he searched.

He found himself wishing for Sypha’s help as he wound through the shelves. Not only was she a wonderful research partner, but the Speakers knew a wealth of oral traditions, perhaps she would been able to even point him in the right direction. As it was, he was having a difficult idea of where to even begin.

He sighed, adding another tome to the ever-growing pile. Perhaps it had something to do with Chaldean element magic, he’d thought he’d heard his father mentioning how some people might have an innate predisposing towards it. That was, of course, if it wasn’t some kind of hex or curse that needed to be undone.

He wasn’t even sure if it was tied to sleep or if the sleep simply allowed something dormant to manifest. Perhaps he should think about tracking down Sypha, if only to see if she’d ever heard of something similar…

He crossed back to the distance mirror, pulling Elyra’s bedroom to the forefront of his mind. He’d originally been checking on her every fifteen minutes, but it had been close to an hour since he’d first located the Chaldean tome—

The sheets were rumpled and vacant. He swore, crossing back to the table where he’d stacked his finds and shoved them into a bag.

* * *

You awoke alone in an unfamiliar room. Alucard’s room, you remembered, recalling the night before. Had it only been the night? How long had you slept?

One hand reached up to hold your bandaged throat and your eyes roved over Alucard’s careful bandaging of your arms. They still burned dully, like when you’d burned yourself with lye attempting to make soap. The skin felt hot to the touch and you flinched, pulling a face.

You spotted the wire on the bedside table, hastily coiled and still bloodied. You reached out to examine it further only to wrench your hand back as it burned to the touch. Could it have been coated in some sort of acid? Was it part of the magic of the thing?

There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers. Alucard would know something, he’d be bound to, growing up in a palace of books, a vampire for a father, a magic sword at his hip. Magic must be as natural as breathing for him.

Swallowing hurt. You were sure there were bruises underneath the bandages. That ruled out calling for Alucard. You pushed off the covers and swung your legs gingerly out of bed, eyeing the splint fastened to your left leg. It had held up to walking before, granted, not for long distances and not without you leaning heavily onto Alucard’s arm for support.

Still—you were tired of seeing specks of your own blood on Alucard’s sheets.

Perhaps you were especially lucky he was only a dhampir. You doubted a full-fledged vampire would put up with you bleeding all over his house as much as you did. Or perhaps they found the scent enticing, like you found the baker’s shop.

You contemplated asking Alucard, half out of curiosity, half out of the twisted desire to annoy him, just a little. You could use a little of the levity created by one of your play arguments.

You swore as you took your first step, leg nearly buckling on you. Still. If you braced yourself against the bed, and then the wall, it wasn’t unmanageable. You’d gotten used to pain, you could push past it, banish it to the back of your mind.

You turned towards where you remembered your room being, though you hesitated. So much of the castle looked the same. Still, if there were clues to be found in the library, there were at least half as many to be found at the scene of the attack. Perhaps strange sigils or glyphs that could be traced back to the practitioner. Or perhaps the briars that had been used to attack you were unique in some way—you had always been rather good at identifying what flora grew around your Vienna home.

Yes, perhaps if you could simply bury yourself in the investigation you could stave off the creeping terror that filled you, overwhelmed only by your guilt—

You should leave, run far, far away from the castle.

Afterall, what sort of repayment was this, after the kindness Alucard had given you? If you weren’t such a dreadful coward—you’d have set off long ago, leg be damned, to meet your fate with your head held high.

What if it wasn’t only you hurt the next time?

What if it was Alucard?

The thought made your heart hammer erratically. You couldn’t bear the thought of it—he was your friend, perhaps your only friend. It wasn’t as if you’d spent much time playing with other children your age as a child, and it hadn’t helped that you bounced between Vienna and Gresit so frequently. And even the friends you did make—well, no one took women very seriously, especially on any subject of note. And you weren’t good at talking about the latest fashion, or embroidery, or who had danced with whom at the last ball.

But Alucard didn’t care if your tongue was sharp or your wit biting, in fact he seemed to revel in it, giving just as good as he got. He was more than happy to discuss anatomy or philosophy or to simply read in shared silence. 

It would be poor thanks indeed to drag him into your mess--whatever it ended up being.


	12. Lament

She couldn’t get far.

She didn’t have shoes, for heaven’s sake, never mind the fact that her leg was weeks away from being able to support her for any real length of time. Still he listened intently for the sound of her fluttering heart, a sound that had become so familiar in the past weeks.

Perhaps even comforting.

He caught the faintest of beating from upstairs and made for the noise, only pausing to deposit his stack of books at the base of a staircase to retrieve later.

He found her on one of the landings, sat in a heap, eyes wide and breaths short and shallow. He was so relieved it took him a moment to notice the polished wood of the banister, which had somehow begun to sprout a thin filigree of branches, tiny green buds at their tips. Elyra stared at it white-faced, clutching her hands to her chest.

“I didn’t mean to,” she stammered without looking away, voice barely above a whisper. “I—I was falling and I grabbed the railing and—”

She devolved into panicked hyperventilating, trembling, curling in on herself as he stood frozen, staring at the branches that had begun to bloom. Instilling life—it was far from easy magic, never mind something he’d ever heard of someone doing accidentally. He wasn’t even sure how _he_ would go about bringing long-dead wood back to life. Had the Speakers heard of magic such as this? Could he even track Sypha down with Elyra in such a state? She was hardly fit for travel, never mind to be left alone in the castle. The stairs alone would be the death of her.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, breaking him out of his revelry. He knelt down, reaching out a hand only to have her recoil.

“Don’t! I don’t know how I did it, I could hurt you—”

“You won’t,” he said, and he meant it, but she curled further away.

“You don’t know that. You can’t, because I don’t know how I did it or how to stop it. I thought I was just going mad but—you have to let me go. Something _horrible_ is wrong with me and I don’t—I won’t have you dragged into it, not when you’ve shown won’t me such kindness—”

“Elyra, you can’t even walk yet—”

“It doesn’t matter! If they can reach into my dreams, death will come to me regardless. I—Alucard, you are my friend and I won’t see you needlessly bloodied on my account.”

Alucard looked away biting his lip. How could she call him a friend when he’d spent so much of her time here ignoring her, pushing her away? When she didn’t even know who he truly was, or the blood that already stained his hands? When she didn’t even know his name.

“It’s Adrian.”

“What?”

“My name—my real name.”

“Adrian—” he hated the way it sounded coming from her lips, like a melody, like a breeze on a warm day, like the spring sun after a hard winter. He hated the twinge it brought in his chest, the ache that begged him to ask her to repeat it.

“Stay. At least until you’re properly healed. Then I’ll hire a carriage to take you back to Vienna, to wherever you want, just—you won’t last a night in the wilderness, not as you are. It’ll give us time to search the library, to figure out what might be happening—”

“Adrian—”

“ _Please_. A month. Just a month to get everything sorted.” He could hear the desperation in his voice but he didn’t care, wouldn’t, as long as she stayed. She stared at him a long time, eyes glossy, still clutching her hands to her chest as if she were afraid of what they were capable.

She took a deep breath and nodded, curling back in on herself.

* * *

You let Alucard— _Adrian—_ lead you away from the bannister, from the branches you’d conjured, branches that still seemed to be growing even if their rate had slowed. He led you to an unfamiliar room, larger than your own, though you merely crossed through to a second door that in turn led to a tiled room, a pair of sinks against one wall, a large clawfoot tub dominating the other. You didn’t react as he set you down on a stool pushed against the wall, nor when he began fiddling with the taps. You could still feel the tingling in your hands, the residue of magic—was it magic? How could it be when you had no idea it had even existed months before?

You were just a bookmaker’s daughter, for Christ’s sake! All you had wanted was to run the bindery and live upstairs, surrounded by your books. Live a quiet, solitary life watching Vienna bustle around you. And now?

Now you were some sort of witch, crippled and bound to the castle of a dhampir, torn apart by your own nightmares. Hunted for reasons beyond you.

Well, perhaps not beyond you anymore.

“I’m going to undo your bandages, alright?”

It took you a moment to process his words, to turn and find his face, golden eyes filled with worry. You nodded, closing your eyes as you felt his hands at your neck, gently unwinding his earlier handiwork. You held completely still, even as hot tears trailed down your cheeks. Adrian said nothing, just continuing his gentle removal of your bandages, of the splint that held your leg together. You only realized he’d finished when you felt his thumb swipe away the tears on your cheek, only for them to be quickly replaced. He sighed, picking you up once more and carrying you to the tub, the water covered with a thick layer of steam and smelling of lavender.

He averted his eyes as he helped you pull the bloodstained nightshirt over your head, dropping it to the tile before lowering you into the bath. The water was hot, and you sunk down to your chin, eyes still fixed on nothing.

Alucard—Adrian said something of disposing of the gown, slipping out of the bathroom with near-silent steps. You sighed, waiting a moment before sliding down until you were fully immersed, the weight of the water muffling the world around you. You stayed that way until your lungs ached, until you were forced to break the surface, gasping a breath.

You heard Adrian return, footfalls purposely audible. You thought of sinking back below the sweet-smelling water, only to turn when you heard him drag the stool from the corner so he could perch behind you, a bar of soap and a cloth clutched in his free hand.

“Sit up a bit, your hair is a mess of dried blood.”

You listened, wrapping your arms around yourself as you did. You felt him lather your hair, working from it the mattes of blood, the traces of last night’s torment. It was a moment before you realized he was humming, the same song he had days earlier as he puttered around the kitchen. A song his mother had sung him to help him fall asleep.

You bit your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. Your heart ached, lodged in your throat. You sat in silence as he rinsed your hair, wiped the remains of the blood he’d missed the night before from your skin, as he helped you stand and wrapped a towel around you, eyes glued to the wall.

It was a long time before you spoke, letting him rub a salve into the wounds of the night before, wounds that were feverish and blistered, wounds that screamed at the faintest touch.

“I lied, before. Or omitted, but I supposed it amounts to the same.” When he didn’t say anything you continued.

“It’s not the first time I’ve made something grow, at least, I think. Never something like that but—our window boxes always had the largest blooms, and they’d be the last to die. I used to play in them as a girl, and my mother would always scold me, pull me away and forbid me from doing so. I think she knew there was something wrong with me, even then.

“I’m sorry, I know I should have said something before I—I just didn’t believe it myself. Or perhaps I just didn’t want to.”

You hung your head, biting your lip as you felt another hot wave of tears. You brushed them away, angry that you’d managed to cry more in the past two days than in the half year before. You took a shuddering breath, trying to compose yourself. You felt Alucard— _Adrian_ —cup your chin, gently, but with enough insistence to make you look up at him.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just different.”

“Then it truly is a curse,” you said, making a face. To your surprise, he laughed.

“Perhaps. But there are worse ones to bear.”


	13. Chorale

You let Alucard— _Adrian—_ lead you away from the bannister, from the branches you’d conjured, branches that still seemed to be growing even if their rate had slowed. He led you to an unfamiliar room, larger than your own, though you merely crossed through to a second door that in turn led to a tiled room, a pair of sinks against one wall, a large clawfoot tub dominating the other. You didn’t react as he set you down on a stool pushed against the wall, nor when he began fiddling with the taps. You could still feel the tingling in your hands, the residue of magic—was it magic? How could it be when you had no idea it had even existed months before?

You were just a bookmaker’s daughter, for Christ’s sake! All you had wanted was to run the bindery and live upstairs, surrounded by your books. Live a quiet, solitary life watching Vienna bustle around you. And now?

Now you were some sort of witch, crippled and bound to the castle of a dhampir, torn apart by your own nightmares. Hunted for reasons beyond you.

Well, perhaps not beyond you anymore.

“I’m going to undo your bandages, alright?”

It took you a moment to process his words, to turn and find his face, golden eyes filled with worry. You nodded, closing your eyes as you felt his hands at your neck, gently unwinding his earlier handiwork. You held completely still, even as hot tears trailed down your cheeks. He said nothing, just continued his gentle removal of your bandages, of the splint that held your leg together. You only realized he’d finished when you felt his thumb swipe away the tears on your cheek, only for them to be quickly replaced. He sighed, picking you up once more and carrying you to the tub, the water covered with a thick layer of steam and smelling of lavender.

He averted his eyes as he helped you pull the bloodstained nightshirt over your head, dropping it to the tile before lowering you into the bath. The water was hot, and you sunk down to your chin, eyes still fixed on nothing.

Alucard— _Adrian_ said something of disposing of the gown, slipping out of the bathroom with near-silent steps. You sighed, waiting a moment before sliding down until you were fully immersed, the weight of the water muffling the world around you.

You stayed that way until your lungs ached, until you were forced to break the surface, gasping a breath.

You heard Adrian return, footfalls purposely audible. You thought of sinking back below the sweet-smelling water, only to turn when you heard him drag the stool from the corner so he could perch behind you, a bar of soap and a cloth clutched in his free hand.

“Sit up a bit, your hair is a mess of dried blood.”

You listened, wrapping your arms around yourself as you did. You felt him lather your hair, working from it the mattes of blood, the traces of last night’s torment. It was a moment before you realized he was humming, the same song he had days earlier as he puttered around the kitchen.

A song his mother had sung him to help him fall asleep.

You bit your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. Your heart ached, lodged in your throat. You sat in silence as he rinsed your hair, wiped the remains of the blood he’d missed the night before from your skin, as he helped you stand and wrapped a towel around you, eyes glued to the wall.

It was a long time before you spoke, letting him rub a salve into the wounds of the night before, wounds that were feverish and blistered, wounds that screamed at the faintest touch.

You took a deep breath, dropping your eyes to the tiled floor.

“I lied, before. Or omitted, but I supposed it amounts to the same.” When he didn’t say anything you continued.

“It’s not the first time I’ve made something grow, at least, I think. Never something like that but—our window boxes always had the largest blooms, and they’d be the last to die. I used to play in them as a girl, and my mother would always scold me, pull me away and forbid me from doing so. I think she knew there was something wrong with me, even then.

“I’m sorry, I know I should have said something before I—I just didn’t believe it myself. Or perhaps I just didn’t want to.”

You hung your head, biting your lip as you felt another hot wave of tears. You brushed them away, angry that you’d managed to cry more in the past two days than in the half year before. You took a shuddering breath, trying to compose yourself. You felt Alucard— _Adrian_ —cup your chin, gently, but with enough insistence to make you look up at him.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just different.”

“Then it truly is a curse,” you said, making a face. To your surprise, he laughed.

“Perhaps. But there are worse ones to bear.”

* * *

After Adrian had finished wrapping your wounds he helped you to the bed in the other room, disappearing with a promise to return in a moment. You perched on its edge, wrapped in at least three towels, your arms still burning with the lingering antiseptic. You knew by the way his face had darkened upon examining them that there was something wrong with the wounds, something beyond what you could articulate.

They would scar, you guessed. You wondered for a moment why the thought bothered you—it wasn’t as if you were particularly vain, or had ever cared much about your looks before. Perhaps it was simply the visceral reminder, the reminder that you were not safe, even in sleep.

That you would be forever marked as cursed, as other.

Adrian returned, drawing you from your thoughts. He carried a bundle of fabric over one arm, looking sheepish.

“I wasn’t able to find much in the way of spare clothing. I will admit that some of it is plundered from my own wardrobe, but it will be warm, at least, until we can get you something proper.”

You gave him a smile, taking the clothes from him with a quiet thanks. He stepped outside to allow you the façade of privacy, which you appreciated, even if he hadn’t already dressed you in your convalescence.

He’d managed to track down a shift and a skirt, the latter of which you might of tripped over if you were able to walk. Then there was a thick pair of woolen socks and a sweater that dwarfed your frame. Still, it was well-worn and soft and kept the chill of the castle at bay.

“Are you decent?”

“I have clothes on, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You heard him snort, the sound faint beyond the oak of the door, before he pushed it open, carrying a wooden comb and a ribbon. He handed them both to you, surveying you with an odd expression.

You ripped the brush through your hair harshly, matted as it was from weeks of being near-bedbound. When was the last time you’d brushed it? Before you’d been taken no doubt. Perhaps it would be worth it just to lop the lot of it off at your shoulders and be done with it.

You looked up as the brush was snagged from your hands, Adrian looking at you with distain.

“You’ll ruin your hair if you keep at it like a wolverine.”

“What’s a wolverine?” you asked as he settled behind you on the bed, working through the ends of your hair, carefully removing the tangles.

“Keep your head forward. They’re vicious little things resembling small bears.”

“Are they native to Wallachia?”

“No, they live in the far north. We have a book that tells of them somewhere in the library.”

You sat in silence for a while, the only sound that of the brush as he worked free the knots from your hair. The rhythm was soothing and you found your eyes slipping shut. When you finally did speak, your voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“Thank you, for being my friend. I never really had one before.”

“You don’t have to thank me—”

“I do. For saving me, for taking me in, for taking care of me—”

“You’re—you’re my friend too.”

He finished plaiting your hair back, tying it off with the ribbon.

“Perhaps that’ll stop it from getting so tangled again.”

You gave him a tentative smile, biting your lip. You hated the warmth in your chest from him words, the way it almost made you feel whole.


	14. Leggiero

They spent the next few days buried in the library, hardly able to see each other over the mass of tomes that lay stacked around them on the table. He was growing frustrated—he couldn’t seem to find a single tome that made the way her magic acted make sense, nor that explained how she had been attacked.

Elyra pulled him from his thoughts, fixing him with a piercing stare.

“Why do you call yourself Alucard, if your name is truly Adrian?”

“It was more of a title really—the opposite of my father.”

“The opposite?”

“My father was Vlad Tepes. More commonly known as Dracula.”

“Oh,” she said, eyes widening a moment before she dropped her gaze. “I believe I read about him, back in Vienna.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment before she spoke again.

“Was that—the stakes outside, was that him? He was rather known for, well, _that_ , up north.”

“Ah, umm—no, actually.”

“Oh,” she said again, looking back down at the book before her. There was a long pause before—

“Did—did you put them there?” She looked up, eyes searching. She seemed to find the answer on his face, in the uncomfortable set of his shoulders. She just nodded, turning back to her reading. He stared at her a moment, dumbfounded.

“Are you not frightened?”

“Would you prefer it if I was?”

“What sort of question is that?”

“An honest one. I have not known you to be needlessly cruel—quite the opposite. Having been saved by your hospitality, I am sure they earned their fate.”

“You hardly know me.”

“Tell me then, that you did it for your own cruel joy, and I will agree with you. I shall cower and curse my own naiveté. Go on, tell me you took pleasure in draining the life from them, that you did so without provocation.”

He stared at her, eyes narrowed. She glared back, mouth in a hard line.

“I did not.”

“I have known cruelty, Adrian. I do not believe you have the stomach for it.” The words fell bitterly from her lips, a sneer twisting her features as she dropped her gaze back down to the page.

“I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“That you have known such cruelty. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Neither did you.”

She flipped to the next page, eyes already skimming the text. He turned back to his own, only to glance to his hand, which she had taken hold of with her own. She gave it the gentlest of squeezes. He returned the gesture, dwarfing her hand in his own.

They continued their research in that way for the next several hours, until the sun set outside the library windows and the fire grew low in the grate.

He glanced over the table to where she sat hunched over a thick, yellowed tome, head propped up by her hand. Her hair was falling loose from the braid she’d taken to wearing, her eyelids fluttering with the effort to stay open.

“Elyra,” he said, marking his page, “perhaps you should take a break. Rest.”

She sighed, not looking up from her book. “I’m fine, really. There’s too much to go through.”

“It’ll be here when you wake, I can assure you.”

“I—I don’t’ want to sleep. I don’t want him to come back.”

He frowned, brow furrowed before standing. There was a divan in the upstairs sitting room, he was sure it could be made comfortable enough. He returned carrying it, as well as a comforter he’d stolen from one of the guest rooms and an array of down pillows. He set it to the side of the table where they had been working, making it up into a bed.

“Sleep. I will remain right here and awaken you at the slightest sign of distress.”

She surveyed him a moment, face hollow-looking with bruise-like shadows smudged under her eyes. She sighed and nodded, biting her lip.

He helped her to the sofa, propping her injured leg on a pile of pillows as she settled back, twisting the fabric of the blanket nervously as she watched him.

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Sleep well. I’ll be here.”

He gave her a small smile, turning back to his book. When had it stopped feeling odd to smile? He shook his head. He was being stupid. He’d smiled at Sypha before, hell, even at Trevor.

Somehow it just didn’t feel the same.

Perhaps there was sense in tracking down the pair of them. There was a chance that Sypha _had_ heard of something similar, that she might know of some solution. She and Elyra would probably get along well enough, they were both learned and insatiably curious. And he’d never known Trevor to turn down the chance at a verbal sparring match, though he’d make sure to warn him to toe the line—

“Alu—Adrian?”

“Yes?”

“Could you read aloud to me? Just until I fall asleep?” she flushed, avoiding his gaze.

“This tome is in Chaldaic, do you speak it? I could find another more pleasing—”

“I do not mind, I only wish to know that I’m not alone when I close my eyes.”

He hated the edge of desperation in her voice, the loneliness that soaked her words—he was far too familiar with the feeling.

“Of course,” he replied, turning so he faced her, propping his feet up on the edge of the divan. He continued in sometimes stilted Chaldean, sometimes pausing a moment to mark a page or jot down a series of notes. He’d not gotten through more than twenty pages before her breathing evened out, her features finally relaxing.

He wondered if he might had been able to rest those first few weeks after being attacked by Taka and Sumi, if he’d had someone to make sure no harm would befall him if he closed his eyes.

What might he have been like, had they not broken him so thoroughly? What would she?

Two terribly broken things, tossed aside in the Wallachian wilderness. Perhaps it was fate then, that they’d become friends.

He put the book down for a moment, watching as her hand tightened around the edge of the blanket. She looked younger like this, without the weight of the world slung over her shoulders. He realized he had no idea how old she even was—perhaps twenty?

She stirred slightly, drawing his attention as a lock of her hair fell in front of her face. He stooped, tucking it behind her ear, pausing when she leaned into his touch.

Had his heart always beat quite so loud?

He turned back to his book, finding the words harder to focus on than they were before.


End file.
